


Before we dwell on it

by meinposhbastard



Series: werewolfish matters [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Alternative Universe - Werewolves, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard/pseuds/meinposhbastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There are expectations lying in Q’s eyes. There’s also their reflection in Bond’s, but neither of them voice their thoughts out loud or transform them into actions. It’s not a tragic moment. At least, not in Q’s mind. It’s only a decision he’s made for his own sanity and probably for the agent’s too."</p><p>Or the one where they break up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before we dwell on it

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. This is my first fic (in one of my first fandoms) so of course I'm a ball of emotions!
> 
> I couldn't have finished this story without the help of the wonderful **Lin** , my beta and brit-pick throughout the entire story. Then, there is **Lex** who was one of my first readers and who gave me very much appreciated opinions on how the story was unfolding, as well as precious information about James Bond's world so I could give it a tad bit of credibility ^^
> 
> Other people who betaed this chapter but then fell away because of life's rude intrusion were: **fightyourdragon** , **hedwig-dortd** and **Lily**.
> 
> Thank you all for your warm welcome into this fandom and your help, however small it was. I can never be grateful enough! :)

* * *

**Chapter 0**

**I think they're masochists!**

* * *

 

People often deceive each other, Q thinks.

Maybe with sweet words, or with the deadpan truth that comes like a cool wind in the height of a hot summer‘s day.

They worm their way into other people’s hearts and attack only when their nest is complete. For him, it’s the most tragic part of loving and caring for someone, a conclusion he reached only after an impressively long movie marathon he went through some years ago.

Though real life has a slightly different approach to the subject, probably because good things never last forever.

Strangely, people do last. Not forever, but enough to make them crave the imminent end.

It is also interesting, in Q’s eyes, how these same creatures continue to engage in all those fastidious relationships. Everytime he sees one, he feels like he’s looking through the eyes of a newborn baby: every detail, every new aspect of it is a wonder, as well as a truly spectacular display of affection and optimism. Two things the world seems to lack, even though they are everywhere their human eyes can see.

Q also thinks about the opposite way of forming a relationship with another person: engaging into a physical one, where just the body and the most carnal desires are appeased.

That’s another wonder he finds he quite enjoys the nature of. It’s less complicated and impressively sufficient, satisfying him to the fullest, but he might be a tad bit too precocious in assuming this, though nobody could deny that that kind of relationship doesn’t lack anything. At least for him. It’s perfect.

He made his way up to the top of the Quartermaster Programme with his brain as his only asset. Of course, it is his _best_ asset - not taking into consideration Q’s deceiving appearances, but those are meant for when he’s in need of some physical contact. _Prolonged_ physical contact.

He’s displaying a calm and composed demeanor, but inside he’s close to the brink of madness, because on this perfect friday night, the adrenaline that’s been released into his body as a side effect of the full moon completely awakens his every sense and makes him crave that physical contact.

“Q, you’re supposed to go home and rest.” Moneypenny chides, her determined footsteps approaching from behind.

He had already heard her from way across the hallway as his door is open, but he didn’t spare it another thought. It was like a bell in the background, suffused by his whirl of bizarre thoughts. That’s why he wasn’t surprised when her destination turned out to be his office.

He is too used to having his brain do multiple things at once for surprises to be frequent in his life.

“Yes, I’m on my way. Just a few things to finish before I go.” He answers absent-mindedly, continuing to work on his laptop.

She stops at Q’s right side, leaning on his desk while facing the entrance. Q can feel something’s coming, but he’s not sure if it’s bad or good. He won’t be surprised if his brain has already labeled what kind of something is on it’s way to him. Most probably he’ll know later on, when his mental front stage won’t be occupied with variegated thoughts.

“How’s your shoulder?” Eve asks after several moments.

 _Oh, the ever so caring Eve Moneypenny,_ Q thinks, not surprised in the slightest.

“As good as it can be.” He flexes his left arm, demonstrating that it is back to being fully functional.

Three seconds of silence follow. Q counts them unintentionally, because the rhythm of the clock hanging on the wall behind him catches his attention for that brief time.

“Sorry.”

_Don’t be. It wasn’t even bruised, though it hurt for a short moment._

It’s almost painful to hear that word coming from Eve’s mouth. She’s a tough agent, but mistakes happen to everyone. Eve made one. Just one, and the fieldwork transformed into a faraway dream. Now, her most required skills are pertaining to the bureaucratic area.

“For?” He asks instead.

“You know what for.” She frowns slightly, fixing her gaze on his face. The mixture of guilt and mild irritation (not directed at Q) makes him itchy. “I should’ve checked the rifle twice before handing it to you.”

“I hope you’re not going to feel guilty until your last breath, because it’ll be a waste of energy.” Q says softly, his eyes never leaving his laptop’s screen.

Her frown deepens, but she says nothing. The sound of Q’s dexterous fingers pushing the keys seems to calm her. She’s finding it soothing, because Q has a strange effect on her whenever they are side-by-side. Sure, he’s made of flesh and bone like anybody else, but for Eve there’s also a special ingredient: lullabies.

“So, I’m taking it you’re free after this.” She says, smiling sweetly at him.

“Why? Do you want to buy me a drink and some chips?” Q replies, one corner of his mouth quirking.

“I’d have gone for a more complex meal, but if you prefer those… “

Q lets out a soft laugh, interrupting her, but his eyes are still glued to his laptop. There is time for everything and even though he finds Eve to be excellent company, he has other matters to attend to. Like Bond’s let’s-have-dinner-tonight text message received that morning at half past seven, reading in double-oh-seven (kind of) code:

_10.30 p.m. I’ll be waiting outside._

If he didn’t know the agent better, he’d find the message rather threatening, but everyone has their ways of expressing. Some of them, though, are keen on making simple matters look dangerous.

“Thank you for the offer, Moneypenny, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline it.” His soothing voice leaves her confused.

Eve looks at him like she doesn’t quite understand what he has just said. Q can tell by the subtle change in her expression she isn’t used to being turned down. Also, the wave of confusion that radiates through her every pore tickles his keen sense of smell.

“Oh.” The only word that comes from her mouth, half whispered, but only a moment later her face lights up and the wave of confusion transforms quickly into a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “ _Oh!_ ” She says more convinced. “You have a _date_ !”

“Appointment.” He corrects her, almost prevailing over her last word.

“Yes, a date-appointment. Emphasis on date, though.” She almost purrs, giving him a knowing smile, and it’s now that Q turns his attention fully to her, if only for a brief moment.

“There’s no such thing as a date-appointment.” He says, logging off of his laptop and closing it, then moving for his clothes.

“Yes, there is.” Eve replies in a smug voice. “Definitely, in your case. You do like to mix business with idle chit-chats, so the term is more than appropriate.”

Q turns with his bag on his left shoulder. He has already put on his grey overcoat and his navy blue scarf. Winter is slowly turning into spring, but the temperatures are less than merciful on the unprepared.

“You make quite the impression.” She comments, giving him a quick glance from head to toe.

“If you weren’t aware of it, I _am_ impressive.” Q quips, heading for the lift with Eve by his side.

He is just _this close_ to turning up his collar in an old Sherlock Holmes fashion, but he manages to contain himself, though the smug smile doesn’t leave his lips for a while.

“Sometimes you’re an arse, you know that?” She laughs, pushing him jokingly to the side with her hip.

 

* * *

 

“You’re not trying to tease me by taking me to the most demanding restaurants in London, are you?” Q says, assessing his surroundings carefully.

Even though their table is in a private corner of the restaurant, he still feels uncomfortable. Maybe it’s his clothes that makes him feel out of place. Everywhere he looks, there’s someone in a three piece suit looking wonderfully neat and noble, Bond included.

Yes, it’s definitely the clothes.

The fault falls entirely on Bond. He hadn’t bothered to give Q one single hint about their destination, not even a casual mention of a street name around the restaurant, but Q should have known better than to think so little of that. It’s not like this is the first classy restaurant that they’ve dined in. It’s not their first appointment, either. _Date-appointment_ , Q corrects himself with a wry internal smile.

The atmosphere borders on being too intimate for a normal dinner. But then again, when was the last time Q had a normal dinner? Unfortunately, his memory fails to make him proud and he makes a strategic retreat from the question, leaving it unanswered. He has time to find it, but for now it can be dismissed.

Bond’s amused smile stays frozen on his face as he looks at Q’s mildly desperate expression. He never ceases to be amazed by how many genuine emotions his Quartermaster can show on his face. It isn’t a wonderful feeling that settles well in his chest, it’s more like a poignant dagger which never stops scratching at the walls surrounding the clutter of emotions he has.

However, he won’t back away from what he wants. Not now that he has an interesting and peculiar _prey_ ready to be _trapped_. Again.

“No, I think you’re just showing off.” Q settles for a more reasonable answer as he makes eye contact with the agent and sees the tell-tale  amusement written all over his face.

Meanwhile, the main course arrives; an interestingly looking Normandy pork casserole for Q. His eyes immediately fell on this dish when he skimmed the menu, because it’s a meal he’s familiar with, given that it’s his mother’s best recipe. Simple, but delicious.

“You know I like to treat my lovers well.” Bond says truthfully after the waiter takes his leave.

On his side, the main course looks rather complicated, in a classy way. That’s how Bond prefers to treat himself when he’s in a restaurant and he has company. Q knows all about it, given that he has participated in many of the kind, though not in a physical way. Q also knows it’s something that has deep roots within Bond’s social manners. It’s like breathing. Necessary.

“Yes, definitely showing off.” Q concludes, taking a bite.

“I would’ve gone for the Soft Shell Crab.” Bond says after some minutes of only tasting the food.

“I’m not entirely convinced of its edibility, but maybe I’ll try it.” Q replies, looking straight at Bond. “Someday.” And he takes another mouthful. “How are you keeping up with the wounds?” He asks as soon as his mouth is empty.

“Most of them are superficial, nothing serious, but I was sedated for five hours yesterday because of the one on my left side.” James replies, frowning slightly and Q can feel the dark shadows of anger welling up subtly.

“You’re still trying to get over it.” Q states, and settles for this affirmation, knowing it’s the truth.

“I’m not angry because they sedated me, but because they’ve made it a point of doing it whenever I set foot in their territory looking as fresh as an agent can be after a mission.”

Bond’s reply is folded in layers of sarcasm, bringing in a spectacular mix of amusement and seriousness alike. Q can’t prevent his reaction to it, especially since it’s a spontaneous, genuine laugh.

“Maybe because you always flee the Med department before they manage to examine you completely? You don’t trust them, they don’t trust you. I think it’s a fair retaliation that they act first and ask questions later. After all, they have to make sure you agents won’t die from bleeding yourselves out, and it seems that they care enough about their jobs to risk riling up a double-oh by sedating them without their consent.” Q comments in his renowned posh voice, looking at Bond with a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. Finally, he feels more at home. “Well, you wouldn’t back away from completing your job even if you were half dead, would you? They’re doing the same thing.”

“Are you trying to make excuses for those vampires?” Bond asks, giving Q a sharp look, and he can finally see it.

That glint which sends chills down Q’s spine. Bond isn’t afraid of anything. Neither death nor torture can break this man’s defences. He has built them too high and too thick for anyone to manage to penetrate them. Bond’s as indestructible as a human being can be.

The thrill of sharing a bit more than a mere professional relationship with this scarred and imperfect man fills Q with anticipation and sheer delight. He always feels this way whenever he finds himself near this man.

“Oh, no, for goodness sake!” Q begins, looking horrified at Bond. “If they weren’t so essential to MI6, I would’ve got rid of them long ago. I know the feeling, Bond, and I can assure you I’m as defensive as you are when it comes to them. God knows how many times I had to _act_ the flourish of youthness and vitality to my face so I could stop them from taking me down to the sickroom and probably sedating me so I would rest. Sometimes I think they have a license to bother people, just like your famous and much more interesting one.” Q subtly manages to turn the conversation into a more light and promising one, giving the agent a sweet smile to interpret as he wants.

Bond responds to his smile with a more charming one, willingly taking the bait.

“I don’t think they have it all wrong. You do need a reminder to take a break, because you forget everything when you’re engrossed in your work.”

“Whose side are you on now?” Q frowns, feeling a bit betrayed by the agent’s comment. “Also, if I remember correctly, my being engrossed in my job has saved your arse more than once.” He sets the ground for a promising who-did-more-for-the-other battle.

Bond raises both his hands, palms up, stopping whatever Q wanted to start. He wants to enjoy the dinner, the company, so he’s set on not letting anybody ruin it. Not even Q.

“I’m not arguing with that, because you’re right. But taking a bit more care with your well-being won’t do you any harm.” The agent says in his most sincere and serious voice.

Q puts his forearms flat on the edge of the table, leaning a few inches forward. The meal has sat half-finished in front of him for quite some time now. It seems the conversation has turned out to be more interesting than the food.

“007, being your Quartermaster means that I must make sure you arrive at your _vampires_ more than half alive, which is why I must pull so many all-nighters for your safe-bar to remain at an equilibrium point. I don’t remember a single mission which has taken less than twelve days to complete. Do you?” He asks, raising his eyebrows slightly.

Q never once loses contact with Bond’s gaze, his voice running smoothly with every word that comes out of his mouth. It seemed like he had prepared that speech, like he knew one of their dinners would go in this direction, so he had made sure that he was ready to confront Bond with all he had: a quick tongue and some witty remarks.

A slight shake of Bond’s head, his grin staying on his lips, gives Q the answer he’s been waiting for.

“Good. Now, shall we find a more private place for the remainder of dinner?” Q suggests, standing up and looking at Bond expectantly.

“Skipping straight to dessert, are we?” The agent mirrors Q’s actions, smiling seductively at his Quartermaster.

 

* * *

 

12:37 is the time shown on his digital clock on the nightstand when his phone starts vibrating irritatingly. He’s usually still up at this hour, but the day had drained his energy more than the usual ones, so he had fallen asleep somewhere around midnight. It was also that his body was giving in, unable to cope with his typical all-nighters any longer.

He feels for the phone without opening his eyes. He’s stubbornly keeping himself half asleep in case the device stops vibrating and he can pretend he was never called.

But that never happens.

“Whoever you are, I’m gonna find you and I will skiiin you alif… “ His gruff voice trails off, though the words come out more slurred than coherent. He’s slowly letting himself recede back into his dreams.

A snort on the other side of the line pulls him back to the unstable state of wakefulness.

“What were you dreaming of? A consulting detective chasing down murderers?” Comes Bond’s low, amused voice.

“Mmm, I was engaged in a BDSM play.” Q replies with a lazy smile.

“With the murderer? Or your Watson?” Bond asks, letting the curiosity muddle in with the amusement and flow all the way to Q.

“I don’t remember.” Q frowns slightly, his eyes still closed. “No, wait, it wasn’t… why am I telling you my dream?” He asks, his voice more clear and measured, though he refuses to open his eyes. He’s set on continuing his sleep once the phone call is over. “Is there a particular need for my skills, 007?” His professional voice falls back in place, but he’s keeping his thoughts at a minimum, reluctant to let the sleep wear off.

“Not really.”

“Then?” Q presses the matter before he can stop himself.

Suddenly, the silence takes over the line and Q is left only with Bond’s even breath.

“I’m bored.” Bond says blatantly and Q is silently debating if the answer was uttered because he didn’t know what else to say or because the late hour made his mind-to-mouth filter weaker.

“You have no qualms whatsoever, do you, 007?” Q’s tone turns admonishing at the edges.

“None that I’m aware of.” Bond says promptly and Q can swear he’s grinning. “Why?”

Q lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Go to sleep, James.”

He ends the call, tossing his phone onto the empty side of the bed and turning over the other way. He buries himself under the duvet in a foetal position and in a matter of minutes he’s sound asleep again.

 

* * *

 

This time, Q’s bed partner will not be Bond.

He’s been sex-deprived for two and a half months since Bond went on a mission to the ends of the Earth. The stress accumulated from pulling so many all-nighters (only two hours of lying down after more than sixteen staying up) had put him on the brink of collapse. He didn’t actually sleep throughout those two hours, he was merely resting his eyes, because his mind continued running the mission and calculating all sorts of possible variants.

It always happened when he stepped into the territory of insomnia. He was unable to pull back, to go back to a balanced state of functionality. Q could only go on, unaware of his precarious state of mind, dismissive of the fact that his body had already passed out and he was functioning on adrenaline only. It was probably his only flaw, but he loved being engrossed in something. It made his mind focus on real tasks that he could accomplish right away, and not go wandering aimlessly through millions and millions of questions and ‘’what ifs’’.  

Actually, right now he should be in Q Branch helping as much as possible to shorten the span of time 007 is in South Korea, but Mallory himself had ordered Q out of MI6, with an interdiction of twenty four hours before he could step inside the building again. He had also arranged for a car to take him back to his flat, telling him for the last time to head straight for the bed and sleep.

He should’ve listened to him. He should’ve been sound asleep at this late hour. He’s perfectly conscious he should’ve done all of that, but the adrenaline that’s keeping him moving is not the product of his own body anymore. It’s his own stubbornness that won’t allow him to give in until he’s got what he’s been missing since Bond went on the mission.

That’s why this club is perfect for his purposes, always ready to give him the prey that he wants. He just has to take a deep breath and his refined sense of smell can pick up hundreds of different trails, while his mind quickly chooses the one that matches his tastes better.

_Got you!_

He immediately assess him, not far away from where Q’s standing.

The guy has the opposite of Bond’s body structure, being skinnier and seemingly more delicate than even Q, which is a surprise. His sinuous gestures are what attracts Q’s eyes, though. He’s all fluid movements and open body language and that makes everything easier for Q. Usually he’ll be in the mood to play a little before consuming himself completely in the other.

_Some nice and easy prey tonight, hm?_

Q smirks as soon as they make eye contact and he starts approaching him, unabashed. The dance floor is a constant metamorphosis, music playing loud and people moving like they were born to dance; nobody stands still.

Q’s body shivers at every unintentional touch, his body anticipating the fevered caresses, and because of that he’s making an extra effort to keep his expression as easygoing as possible. He doesn’t want to scare him with how desperate he is right now to fuck or even be fucked (by a stranger). Either possibilities sound heavenly to his sex-driven mind, logic gone to hell a good half a day ago.

“Some good moves you have there.” Q says with a smirk, loud enough for the other to hear.

He circles him once, like he’s marking his prey, and then goes and rests his back on the wall. The other man never stops dancing.

“I’m a professional.” He grins playfully.

Q watches him a bit more, studying the guy for any tell-tale sign that he’s there just to lose himself in the dance. But the only things that Q catches are some not-so-casual glances from the other as well as the subtle change in the way he moves. The whole flowing movement becomes more sensual and provocative.

The song changes and the dancer stops, turning to face Q and fixing his intense gaze on the Quartermaster. He’s breathing heavily and his skin is damp with sweat, but they don’t break eye contact not even when Q closes the distance between them and puts a hand on his hip and the other on his nape. They share another a couple of seconds of intense gazing at each other when Q suddenly takes the final step and kisses him on the mouth.   

The dancer responds beautifully to Q’s decision, lacing his arms around Q’s middle and bringing him even closer while letting Q’s tongue wash his mouth almost completely.

Q knows the guy is his for the night.

 

* * *

 

 

There’s always a thin line that shouldn’t be crossed.

Ever.

Q had had all the warnings he needed to take a wise step back, to put some distance between them, to disconnect. Yet, he chose to go with the flow. He consciously dismissed all the consequences his decision would cause. He tore apart the warnings, selfishly abandoning himself to the warmth and pleasure his relationship with Bond made him feel. It was nice, what he had; that special connection everybody ignored or was unaware of.

It was toxic. Maddening.

It ate at his core, making his defenses crumble bit by bit.

Everything could be easily measured in time. Three months of pleasuring the body. Three months of repeated dinners at sophisticated restaurants. Three months of feeling always out of place, but never going out of his way to buy a three piece suit. Three months of innocent innuendos while on missions. The phone calls whenever one of them felt like it. Bond’s simple and unabashed affection when his defenses were down. There were so many other little things that remained unintentionally ingrained in Q’s mind.

Yes. The madness is there.

Q doesn’t even have to scratch to see it. It’s all over the place in his memory. In the beginning there were just pieces, tiny, easily shrugged off. Now it’s nothing less than a giant puzzle.

After the first layer of madness will always come the misery, a thick block of sorrow one could drown in. After he’s been soaked wet he’ll be blown away by the sadness, a horrendous feeling of emptiness. Then he’ll be sucked into a whirl of pain, while he’ll feel everything, unable to stop it, how every shred of happiness he might have had is destroyed bit by bit. In the end he’ll be left hollow, incomplete, because he once knew the feeling of being a whole.

Just because he tasted the warmth, he’ll have to endure a lifetime of sorrow.

Q knows this process. He has seen many people going through it, some of them taking their own lives, others resigning themselves to the painful life which lay ahead of them.

For Q this was like a high quality horror movie, given the fact that it was happening all around him. His eyes were so trained on catching the wrong details that he was unable to see anything else besides it. 

“This relationship isn’t going anywhere. It’s time to stop our fooling around.” Q says blatantly, not caring whatsoever about how his reply sounded. He’s all serious expression and composed demeanor.

The italian bistro cafè they met in this morning is relatively quiet. Even the sound of cups and glasses being washed and put away dissolves into the warm air like it’s part of the place.

The only thing Bond does after hearing Q’s affirmation is lift his head up two inches and make eye contact with his Quartermaster. The agent notices that he didn’t take off his beige overcoat, even though it is not cold inside. Q is prepared to finish their meeting quickly, it seems, and as experience has taught Bond, there’s not a single trace of any expression whatsoever on his face. He’s unreadable, except for his eyes that keep searching Q’s features for any tell-tale signs.

“Beg your pardon?” Bond quirks one brow, watching his Quartermaster closely.

“I’m trying to say that we should simply put an end to this on-going kind of relationship that implies shagging each other just for the sake of it.” Q repeats with his characteristic calm, each word rolling off his tongue, shaped by his posh accent. “It has become too much for me and I’m not the type who can wait as long as it takes or plead for a change in your attitude.”

“What happened, Q?”

“Feelings got involved. My actions and reactions are not controlled anymore.” He says truthfully with an inhuman tranquility and control over his every muscle in spite of the affirmation that he had just made.

It’s like he’s just talking about another prototype he’s currently working on, but there are many more emotions being pushed down by his logic and stubbornness. What Bond has in front of him is Q’s hollow persona, the one that always comes out when dealing with a situation is too overwhelming for the usual Q.  It’s not a mental problem. It’s just the solution he came up with; a coping mechanism.

Bond’s response is non-verbal; completely made up of gestures. A slight inclination of his head that could mean either that he heard what Q said or that he understood. Q reads it as both, because sometimes it is easier to believe what you want to. He stands up while looking at Bond.

There are expectations lying in Q’s eyes. There’s also their reflection in Bond’s, but neither of them voice their thoughts out loud or transform them into actions. It’s not a tragic moment. At least, not in Q’s mind. It’s only a decision he’s made for his own sanity and probably for the agent’s too.

Once he’s out of the cafè he takes a moment to breath in the humid air of London.

_It’s for the best. For both our…_

Q’s thought refuses to continue, because of the shattered feelings that are damaging the inside of him. Feelings that shouldn’t have ever been involved. Especially this kind; capable of ruining one’s life in a matter of minutes. It’s powerful, devastating, shattering, overwhelming, and for Q it’s the most hateful part of his life. It’s common for humans to hate what they can’t understand, even though is irrational. Q took his time and tried to come to terms with this problem, but eventually he gave in. It was too complicated for him, and now much more distressing, than he could have ever imagined.

He walks down the road, not caring where his legs will take him to. He’s lost too deep in his thoughts, too focused on calming himself down. For a while he’ll be unable to think straight, to be rational about the situation that’s slowly swallowing him up, because just moments ago realisation hit him like a hurricane: he won’t have that something-more-than-a-simple-relationship with Bond. They’ll go back to normal. Nothing that happened during these months will matter.

And Q has every right to wonder: why spend so much energy on emotions, if the pain is always right there, ready to strike like a furious tsunami?

Regardless of his convoluted thoughts and sentiments, the topic concerning feelings dates back to when he was little, and it’s a subject that has been bothering him ever since. He remembers it so clearly, now that the naked core of the problem is wreaking so much havoc with his emotional levels.

**  
  
**

( _“Mother, why do humans keep engaging with one another if they know there’s pain and sorrow in their wake?” Q asks, pretending that the colorful cube is more interesting than his very in-depth question._

 _“Oh, that’s an insightful question you asked, honey bee.” She replies, smiling mysteriously while looking straight into her son’s eyes. “But what would_ your _answer be to that?”_

_Q blinks once, then returns to his cube, switching every mobile part so that each of the six sides will be just one colour. Moments after the object is manipulated by his slim and long fingers, a deep frown changes his serene expression._

_“I think they’re masochists.”_ __

_Upon hearing his answer, she bursts out laughing while moving to Q’s side on the floor._

_“Close enough, honey bee.” She kisses his mop of hair, putting her left hand protectively around Q. “But you’re just six, darling. You should keep those big questions for when you’re older. Now, all you have to do is play and play and learn simple things and then play again and - “_ __

_“ - and be creative and then play again. Yes, I know, mother. But I just want to know why.” He says in a pleading voice, turning his head to look straight at her._ __

_“No puppy eyes, Q.” She admonishes him, taking on a slightly serious expression. “It’s a dirty trick.”_

_“I like dirty tricks.” Q affirms blatantly, still keeping the eye contact with his mother._

_“Yes, you do. They’re your speciality.” She chuckles, hugging him more tightly._ )

**  
  
**

Q’s smile spreads across his face before he can stop it. His mother’s solar personality always had a great impact on him. She always knew how to reassure him even when she didn’t utter a word. There would always be something special about her. It wasn’t just because she was his mother, or even an Alpha along with his father; actually, it wasn’t something Q was capable of explaining, not even after all these years.

The morning traffic pulls him back into the present. He should go home and try to put a lid on the turmoil inside of him, but he should also go back to work, because England can’t have its best Quartermaster take a day off. Not when the matter he’s dealing with right now isn’t of the utmost urgency. He can manage even when he’s feeling torn to shreds. Most definitely.

_Let’s go back to fighting old England’s enemies!_

There’s only so much he can spend his energy on, and Bond won’t have that privilege. Not anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I will be posting the next part a week from now :)


End file.
